Inevitability
by irrevocablybroken
Summary: In the midst of war preparations, Legolas confronts his father in an attempt to discover the truth behind Thranduil's decision: Legolas will stay behind while the army of Mirkwood marches out to battle.


_**summary**__: In the midst of war preparations, Legolas confronts his father in an attempt to discover the truth behind Thranduil's decision: Legolas will stay behind, as the army of Mirkwood marches out to battle. _

_**word count**__: 1506  
__**rating**__: t for terrible pain_

_I do not own the original plot or these characters, although I wouldn't mind having a Thranduil of my own._

The halls were silent, but for the distant clanking of weapons, a grim reminder to those present that the Woodland Realm was preparing for war. Soldiers constantly filtered in and out of the many chambers of the palace, silver armor glistening in the pale rays of light seeping in through the thick branches, eyes alert and sharpened swords at the ready. The troops gathering at the main gates in an orderly group temporarily fell out of formation to bow to their king as he strode past, his son at his heels.

Thranduil paid the warriors no mind, facing straight ahead as he walked, seemingly preoccupied with his thoughts. His soft footsteps echoed throughout the vast hallways, mirrored by his son's, who was visibly struggling to keep up with the king.

"I'm not going to stay behind," Legolas said, in an attempt to carry on the conversation one of his father's generals had interrupted moments before.

Upon receiving no reply, he continued trailing behind the king, as the latter hurried down a winding corridor, his armor shifting with every angry step. Neither attempted to speak again until they'd reached the main hall, where Thranduil stopped abruptly, mere inches in front of his throne.

He did not turn toward his son as he spoke, and his words were cold and detached. "This conversation is over, Legolas. You are to remain here."

"I'm perfectly capable of fighting alongside you; I've been on countless scouting missions. I've singlehandedly and successfully taken out enemy spies at our borders time and time again!" His voice was urgent, pleading, as he stared at his father's stiff form, silently hoping that he would turn around and look at him as he spoke. To his disappointment, Thranduil remained still where he stood, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular. When he replied, his voice was monotonous- the usual mask of calm and collected, void of the slightest inkling of emotion Legolas had been yearning for.

"This is different. You've never been in a real war."

"There's a first time for everything, ada, even this," he countered. "Besides, it's not as if I'm trying to win this battle on my own. I want to be out there, supporting our forces." He paused for a moment, before his eyes lit up in newfound hope. "If I can't join you in the front lines, at least allow me to go with Tauriel's guard. It's safer, I'll be more concealed."

"There's no hiding around on the battlefield, Legolas. You're either on it or you're not," Thranduil snapped, still refusing to turn around and face his son properly.

"Then I will be. I am ready for this, no matter what you seem to think. I will not be treated like a child. I will no-"

"Enough."

The sharp word cut through whatever Legolas was going to say next, successfully cutting off the flow of his words. Thranduil sighed deeply and continued.

"I am heading out with the first wave of our forces at daybreak. You are staying here, awaiting for further commands and that is final, Legolas."

The king remained motionless, waiting for his son to accept his decision and take his leave. Instead he heard a bark of laughter from behind, as Legolas shook his head in disbelief.

"This is ridiculous. It's an utter joke, father," he added, upon seeing his father's figure stiffen, "I've trained for centuries, preparing myself for a moment such as this one and now, when I finally have the chance to see what I'm worth, to aid our people, you dare take this away from me! I should have a say in this, ada, I should be the one to make this decision."

"Legolas-"

"I just want to help!"

"That's what your mother said!" Thranduil shouted, finally whipping around to face his son, his voice breaking with the sudden flow of previously concealed emotions.

The two stared at each other in silence, both equally shocked at the sudden outburst. Legolas looked at his father with wide eyes, suddenly feeling like an innocent child again, clumsily stumbling into the library in the dead of night, only to find his father distraught, half asleep on a chair with an empty bottle of wine in one hand and tears streaming freely down his tired face. The worried elfling would scramble up onto his father's lap and bring a small hand up in an attempt to wipe the stray tears away, bringing him the purest kind of comfort- the kind only a child could provide. Of course, at the time, Legolas was too young to understand the gravity of the situation, and absentmindedly clung to his father's robes as the king shook with unsuppressed sobs, alone in his grief, despite the support he was being offered. As the years passed, the two met in similar circumstances countless times, until Thranduil grew distant and detached and the subject of Legolas' mother disappeared completely from their conversations, remaining only as a dull ache in his memory.

Minutes passed before Thranduil came to realize he'd actually said that out loud. He stared helplessly at his son, hoping he would say something. Anything. Minutes turned to hours in his mind, and Legolas wasn't speaking.

Unable to bear the silence, Thranduil opened his mouth to say something, to excuse himself and go join the troops awaiting his arrival in the main hall. To excuse himself, run away and hide from his darkest thoughts, as he had been doing for centuries. To distract himself and focus on the task at hand without letting sentimentality get in the way.

Instead, he closed his eyes and sighed in defeat.

"I can't let you go, I'm sorry. That's one mistake I won't make twice."

He could feel his son's eyes on him as he hung his head, unable to stand the sight of Legolas' visibly pained expression.

"So, that's what this is about," Legolas finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You see me as a vessel in which to store away all your broken memories about my mother, is that it?"

The Elvenking winced at the blatantly accusing tone and shook his head.

"The last time someone like you left the palace, they did not return to me. Someone… important to me," he managed to choke out, suddenly crushed by the multitude of memories that came flooding back- painful memories he'd prefer stayed tucked away in the dark recesses of his mind.

He looked up and met his son's cold blue eyes, and for the slightest moment, he could have sworn the angry glint softened. But before he knew it, the icy mask was on once again, any traces of emotion masterfully concealed. After all, he'd learned from the best. And if Legolas was anything, it was stubborn and relentless.

"If the enemy really is intent on conquering us, then I'm no safer on palace grounds than I would be in the heart of the battlefield. They would find a way to subjugate every living soul regardless of their whereabouts. The only way to stop that from happening, father, is to go out there and fight for our people, which is precisely what I intend to do."

"I was just trying to protect you, ion nin," Thranduil tried weakly, in a feeble attempt to appeal to the part of Legolas that wasn't angry with him. The part that, somewhere deep down, still remembered that he missed his mother.

"I don't need your protection anymore," Legolas said, undoubtedly trying to sound vicious. Sure enough, the words were a blow to Thranduil, but it was clear in his son's voice that he did, in fact, still need someone to watch after him.

The king smiled bitterly; it was a broken expression. "There really is no changing your mind, is there?"

Legolas shook his head. "This is what I feel I must do."

Thranduil took a step towards his son, but stopped in his tracks, remembering Legolas' unfamiliarity with his father's emotions. Instead, he poured as much affection as he could muster into his gaze and tentatively took his son's hand in his.

"I would not be able to bear burying my own son, Legolas," he paused, taking a shaky breath. "Promise me you will return."

Legolas pulled his hand away.

"You know I can't make that promise."

"I know."

_**A/N:**__ Wouldn't it be tragically beautiful if Thranduil died in the war and Legolas never got the chance to apologize for any of this. Better yet, if Thranduil died in his arms ;) I love hurting Thranduil, I'm sorry. Anyway, this was written as a birthday present for my friend, Susan. I hope you cried _


End file.
